Mutable
by scullyseviltwin
Summary: PostMilagro. There's a fine line between fiction and reality. MSR


_Thank you Anni, for the beta._

* * *

Yellow turned to orange turned to red and then nothing as the sun slipped beyond the horizon and down, down, down.

She could have loved him then, if she had been able to halt the tears, swallow her sorrow as he held her in his arms. Long minutes were spent on the floor, her head to his chest as she sobbed out the terror that had squeezed her heart. And there, in his arms, she realized that he would be, that he was the only man she could ever truly lose herself in.

Her head was spinning, rotating out of control and she couldn't make it stop, it wouldn't stop, couldn't stop...

And she was lost; head buried, fingers clutching, she began to hiccough with the force of her terrified tears. There was nothing that could stop her. The painful rake of her fingers was a near balm to his soul, signaling that she was holding on, fighting against the demons that sought to drag her down.

He could hear the seconds ticking away inside of his head, could feel his thighs begin to cramp up and so, instead of standing and pulling her with him, he settled down on the rug astride her. The floor was hard, but he had fallen harder.

Agent Scully is already in love...

He could feel the stickiness of her supposed blood on his shirt, could almost taste the coppery essense in his mouth. Compelled to check again, Mulder rolled her off of him and with one gentle hand on her back, pulled back the hem of her shirt as he'd done before to check for an entrace wound.

What he found was stained skin, porcelain with splashes of the brightest red and like a sun that was too intense for the human eye, he had to turn away.

The last of her tears had been cried and had dried against her cheeks, the stiff rivulets still apparent to the eye. If thumbs could work against such a deposit, he would have wiped them away. Instead he settled for passing the pad of a finger over her chin, lifting her face so that he could see into her eyes. "Hey, hey... you okay?"

She swallowed hard, averted her eyes and coughed. "Water-"

"Yeah," he muttered, let her go and scrambled unceremoniously to his feet.

When he returned from the kitchen, glass of water in hand, she was grunting and attempting to push herself up into a sitting position. "Doe, doe, don't," he admonished, shuffling quickly to her side, water sloshing over the side of the glass to splosh across the hardwood floor.

A gentle hand stilled on her bicep, settling her back down on her behind. "Here, drink all of it and uh..." he watched on helplessly as she grasped the glass with both hands and poured the cool liquid down her throat. She coughed, sputtered and tilted her head back, the glass going slack in her hands to land between her thighs.

He watched it shiver to a stop and then delicately brought a hand down to retrieve it, his fingernails gently raking over her cotton-clad skin. Tiny doplets eeked out and landed on the dark fabric, holding for a moment before they seeped in. "Thank you," she whispered, eyes clamped closed, one hand soothing over her head, attempting to erase the memories.

One hand trailed up to land on her neck, checking her pulse and as he did so, one eye cracked slowly open. "I'm okay," Scully whispered easily, the words finally finding their way out of her throat, past the bile. "Really, I'm fine."

Looking down at the glass in his hands, he rolled it back and forth. How many times had he imagined such a scenario. Before her abduction, how many times had he pondered on the day she would be taken from him? He'd dreamed of her many times, but had many more nightmares as far as she was concerned. And how many, just how many times had he awoken to the scene of her dead in his arms? "You... are not fine."

"Mulder," she rasped, her voice catching on a faint trace of unswallowed water. On instinct he moved forward, hands stretched out as though to catch her. But she wasn't falling.

Dull nails suddenly tore at the fabric at her chest, scratched at the buttons holding it together. "This... this needs to be off, I need this to be off," and he held back and watched her for a moment. Eyes glassy, body rigid, she was still in shock and he, like he was prone to do, acted quickly and lauched himself at her hands, grabbing them, forcing her back to the floor.

"Stop, you need to... Scully, you need to stop."

He didn't expect her to cry, didn't expect her to expend any more emotion, but when she did nothing he was at a loss for what to do. Again, the seconds ticked off into minutes and before he would let time slip to far away from him he managed to ask, "Are you... alright?"

Her hands were clasped in her lap. Too serene, she was too still. "I don't-I fell... I think I'm dehydrated," she coughed once more, again attempting to push herself up with her palms.

"Stop, wait, Scuh-Scully," Mulder was on his feet, slipping his hands gently underneath her arms. "If you want to get up-"

"Help me up," came her pained plea.

Struggling to right the equilibrium he hugged her tight and then yanked her to her feet. "Couch," Mulder mumbled, and walked her backwards, slowly, to the worn leather. She fell back with a 'woohf' and a sigh and closed her eyes again.

There was nothing but low light coming from the window, the dull hum from the fishtank and a steady ticking from the kitchen clock. After a moment he settled down next to her, palming the empty glass. "Would you like some more-"

"No, no no, I'm fine." Her hands passed over her chest slowly, skin scratching against the rough, stained fabric that covered her body. Scully looked far too serene for the moment, for the setting, but she breathed, sighed and rested her head against the couch. "I um, I um uh... fiction and reailty?" came the unbelieving squeak.

If the moment had been lighter, if she'd had a few beers and he'd been ready to forget that he loved the Truth so much, he might have sidled up to her, put his arm around her neck and whispered that fiction was as subjective as reality. If it had been any other time he would have allowed himself to indulge in the softness of the moment. "I don't know," Mulder breathed as he leaned into her, his cheek nearly brushing hers.

For once he hadn't a clue and he didn't give any thought to finding the answer.

He sat with her until her eyelids began to droop and them took her to his bed, undressed her and laid her down. He couldn't take the nightmares away from her but he could lay along side her and help her battle them as they came.


End file.
